Sleepless Nights
by Enn Arr
Summary: Hermione is dealing with the aftermath of the war and coming to terms with the new law that shook the entirety of Wizarding Britain. [Hermione Granger x Harry Potter] Marriage Law fic. AU. ON HIATUS.
1. When Does Happiness Begin in After?

**IMPORTANT NOTES:**

**1.) This is a DH compatible fic except for the epilogue, of course. As far as I know, the epilogue is nonexistent to me no matter how many people say otherwise. There will be some changes though and I'm going to mix book scenes with the movie scenes because I'm one of those people.**

**2.) English is not my first language and any mistakes in this fic is entirely my fault. I don't have enough time to proofread every chapter I write and I don't want a beta. I'll try to keep the wrong grammars and typos to a minimum though.**

**3.) I know that the Marriage law trope has been done a thousand times over but who says that it can't be done again? This story is purely for my pleasure and for you, my fellow Harmony shipper, as well.**

**4.) Some OOC-ness ahead. This is a post war fic so it's a guarantee that the characters are OOC. War changes people and it would take a long while for them to be the same or nearly the same as before.**

**I guess that's about it. Enjoy ~ NR xx**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.**

**Chapter One**

**_When Does Happiness Begin in After?_**

_A glittering chandelier. Curly black hair. Wild silver eyes. A dagger. A series of flashing lights. The agonising pain. A slur carved on her arm._

Hermione snapped her eyes open and forced herself to remain in the soft mattress of the bed despite the lingering thoughts that had made her want to bolt in the first place. Her throat was tight, veins bulging out of her neck, her jaw locked open, as it took whatever power she had left in her possession to stop herself from screaming aloud. Her honey eyes darted around the room, her trembling body instantly tensing as she noted how dark and cold it was. Alarm and panic gripped her tightly like a man clinging desperately to his lifeline as she was unable to discern her whereabouts.

For a disorienting second, she wondered if she was still in the Malfoy Manor, and her rescue from Bellatrix Lestrange's torture leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the war, was just a figment of her imagination; a reprieve created by her mind to distract her from the pain of Bellatrix's curse. However, there was a faint and familiar smell of perfume in the air and Hermione's body slowly began relaxing against the thin mattress when she remembered that it was Ginny's scent and the memories of the last three months came rushing back like a dam breaking and there was water flooding the whole vicinity. She wasn't in the Malfoy manor anymore; she was currently at the Burrow, in the Weasley's eccentric home, and sharing a room with the youngest child and the only girl in the family, Ginny Weasley.

That meant that it wasn't just her imagination. They had really won the war, and Lord Voldemort was truly dead and cannot be resurrected again with the use of his Horcruxes; the ones that she and her best friends searched and destroyed all throughout the past year. That meant that she wasn't in some dark and dingy dungeon in the Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix wasn't going to appear anytime soon to teach her a lesson. She was dead, just like Antonin Dolohov and Fenrir Greyback. Hermione continued staring at the ceiling, feeling a dull ache settling in her chest. Bellatrix was dead, just like Cedric Diggory, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Sirius Black, Dobby, Dennis Creevey, Lavender Brown, Fred Weasley and so many others. And just like them, she was going to be remembered albeit for different reasons.

Hermione pulled herself up the bed and scratched her untameable brown hair that had only gotten wilder in time. The hand she used was the same arm that had been abused and branded by the mad woman in her nightmares. Until now, she hadn't mustered enough strength to look at the word ever since Fleur Delacour-Weasley had bandanged the wound and covered it from everyone's sights. Only she and Fleur knew about the awful word etched on her skin and they had an unspoken agreement to not speak of it, not even when they're with company or if they're alone. The only times she managed to catch a glimpse of the scar on her left arm was when she was in the showers and that was only a quick glance. She knew that the puckered skin was still red, as though it was days old instead of months, and occasionally, it would bleed through the bandages; the cursed dagger preventing her scarred arm from ever healing or fading. She was branded, like an animal, and she would carry the word forever.

She was hardly the only person tortured amidst the war. Luna had spent a large amount of time in the dungeons of the Malfoy Manor and although she seemed to escape unscathed from the experience, there were moments when Luna would stiffen whenever someone snuck up behind her. Hermione could only imagine what she'd gone through in the hands of the Death Eaters. On the other hand, Ginny, Neville and a lot of other fifth and sixth years were subjected to an entire year of the Carrow Twins and they were known to use Unforgivable curses to punish them for their disobedience. However, out of all of them, Hermione didn't only have the mental scars but also the visual scars to prove that she survived in the war, and lived after experiencing the deranged, Bellatrix Lestrange.

She looked over at Ginny's side of the room and the trepidation in her heart lessened when she saw her asleep in her bed, red hair spread out across her pillow and the moonlight from the window struck her hair, creating a halo. Ginny had always been beautiful but she looked otherwordly that night. The only thing that ruined the beautiful image were the creases on her forehead as her eyebrows knitted, and the frown on her lips. Even in sleep, something was troubling her. However, there were no signs of nightmares — struggling, sweating, whimpering, and loud panting — and that was enough for Hermione, considering that Ginny had just lost a brother in the war three months prior. She was only sixteen, nearing seventeen, but Ginny Weasley was far from the shy child who aimed to please everyone before. Like Hermione and everybody else, Ginny grew up far too quickly.

With a quiet sigh, Hermione decided to leave the bed despite the late hours of the night. She couldn't go back to sleep, not even if she wanted to, not when all she could see whenever she slid her eyes shut was Bellatrix Lestrange, her crazed smile and the maniacal gleam in her silver gaze, when all she could remember were the friends she once had and lost in the war. No, sleep would evade her again tonight, just like the nights before and the ones after. She casted one look at Ginny, making sure that she hadn't disturbed her sleep, before leaving the room to go down to the kitchen after checking that her small beaded bag with her wand inside was still strung around her neck.

Hot chocolate always made her feel marginally better after a nightmare. She discovered that since the summer before her sixth year, when Antonin Dolohov used to invade her thoughts and senses after their gruesome encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Like Bellatrix, he left a mark on her too: the large purple scar across her chest that began in the valley between her breasts, leading down to her stomach, and ended on her left abdomen was one of her first and largest scars to date. The scar was a few years old but it was still in a slightly discolored purple and blue, like a bruise that would never fade. It was a sign that she was hit by a dark curse.

The door to the kitchen was open and she could see a large yellow glow inside, indicating that a number of candles had been lit by someone. Hermione wondered if someone was still awake or if someone had been awoken by a nightmare and couldn't sleep, just like her. It wouldn't be the first time someone had joined her in the kitchen before. She couldn't count the times she had kept George Weasley company in the three months she stayed in the Burrow. The man had lost his twin at the battle and was almost always in a catatonic state; a shell of the man he used to be.

One time, she had also joined Molly Weasley in the kitchen and listened as the matriarch of the Weasley family bustled around in the room, silent tears running down her cheeks, no doubt remembering the child she had lost in the war and the sacrifices that she had done in order to protect her remaining children. In a way, the kitchen became their little sanctuary in the Burrow, the only part of the house that remained untouched from all the horrors and was instead filled with happy memories of a complete family. Indeed, it was the only place that had survived barely unscathed when Death Eaters began raiding the Burrow and set the house on fire, just to prove that they could.

She crept towards the door and the tension that straightened her spine had eased when she spotted the familiar messy raven hair, green eyes and round crooked glasses. It was the first time she had seen Harry in the kitchen before, although she knew that he, too had countless of nightmares of the war, the battle, and the traumatising years before that. Sometimes, Hermione wondered how Harry had done it: survive the pressure of saving the Wizarding world, the constant danger that surrounded him, the lives that were lost that he considered his burden, and the Horcrux feeding off his emotions like a leech. He had sacrificed so much for the Wizarding world. He could've chosen to leave but he decided to stay and become a hero for them; the precious Boy Who Lived.

Hermione debated at first whether to come in or not. These past few months had been hard, especially to Harry who seemed to have created a wall of self loathing and anger around himself, pushing everyone else out. It was like in fifth year all over again although this time, they were unable to get through the wall no matter how many times they tried. Not even Ginny and Molly, who Harry usually listened to, could break the walls that kept them out. She was afraid that she would be invading something private if she approached him. Harry had been less than forgiving whenever he thought someone was meddling in his affairs. Just the other day, he snapped at Ron for asking him if he was okay. That resulted into a nasty fight that agonizingly silenced the occupants in the Burrow for the rest of the day until Harry came to apologize to Ron.

She played with the strands of her hair and sucked in a breath. He looked as though he was deep inside his thoughts and disturbing him might set him off again. She wanted nothing more than to ask and offer her help to him but she knew more than anyone else that prying into Harry's business would only do more bad than good. After all, she was the one who he directed most of his anger towards back in their fifth year. In time, she learned to keep silent whenever it came to Harry and his moments. Maybe she should just leave him alone.

She nodded resolutely in agreement with her thoughts and was about to move away from the open doorway when his green eyes lifted and their gazes met. His thick eyebrows rose in surprise as Hermione sheepishly waved at him. She waited for the outburst to come, for his eyes to harden and his lips to tighten into a straight line, but Harry's constant anger seemed to be subdued that night because he lifted his hand to wave back at her.

"Hey," Harry softly called out, his lips tipping up into a half smile. "What are you doing out there?"

Hermione hesitated before she stepped into the doorway and made her way to him. "I didn't know whether you wanted me here or not," she told him as she took a seat across from him.

The smile turned bitter. "Am I that difficult to deal with right now?"

Hermione stared at his solemn eyes and knew she couldn't lie to him. "Yes," she said quietly. "Just a little bit."

Harry hummed and looked down at his hands on the table. He cleared his throat. "So, why are you still up late at night?"

Hermione sighed quietly at the abrupt change of their conversation. Maybe she shouldn't feel so surprised. Feelings and emotions weren't really Harry's forté. He was an extremely private person. He still had a hard time with sharing and expressing what he truly thought and felt unless it was anger. The times she had seen him so emotional were when he saw Sirius falling into the Veil and when he had learned that he was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, which meant that he had to die in order to save them all.

_'I'll go with you.'_

And she was prepared to die alongside him, for him. It was so strange to think that not so long ago, she was willing to sacrifice her life for the young man in front of her.

"I was asleep," she answered him. "But I woke up. Nightmares."

His green eyes flickered at her answer and he slowly nodded his head. "I see," he intoned.

"Does it go away?" She asked quietly as she tugged her hair, closing her eyes briefly when she felt the sting on her scalp. She pulled too hard.

"What does?" He asked blandly.

"The nightmares," she clarified. "Does it ever go away?"

It took a moment. Then— "No," he answered, as quiet as she. "It really doesn't. Over time, you learn to live with it, really."

Harry would know, Hermione thought. She was aware that ever since fourth year, his nights had plagued him. Sleeping was his most vulnerable state and his dreams were the hunting grounds that Voldemort used to invade. She knew because she often listened to his sleep whenever she was on watch during their Horcrux hunt, when Ron had left and when they both felt as though they were the only two people in the world. Many times, Harry would wake up from the nightmare and Hermione would pretend as though she hadn't heard his grunts of pain, his gasps of undiluted fear, and his thrashing against the sheets as though someone was holding him down and he desperately wanted to break free.

"How are you, Harry?" She asked and braced herself when she saw the flash of annoyance across his face.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he uttered irritably, clenching his jaw and probably gnashing his teeth together. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm fine?"

Hermione stared at him, at the tired red rimmed eyes, at the five o'clock beard on his jaw, at the slumped shoulders, at the hunched back, at the gaunt cheeks, and thin face, and knew that he wasn't as fine as he made it out to be. It hurt Hermione that Harry was lying to her. Wasn't she the one who stayed with him until the very end? Wasn't she the one who went to Godric's Hollow with him and witnessed his painful reunion with his parents? Wasn't she the one who saw him in his most vulnerable state, who never faltered in his most awful and cruel moments? Wasn't she the one who would go through different kinds of lengths just to protect and keep him safe?

Ever since he had saved her from the troll, Hermione knew that she would do anything and everything in her power to keep him safe. She promised to herself that no harm would come to him and she tried so hard to cover him from the harsh reality. He had saved her life after all and that was the only thing that she could repay him for his efforts. Back when they were in their second year, when everyone in school started to suspect Harry the Heir of Slytherin — when she was one of those people who had suspected him — she still did what she could to stop their accusations and find the one responsible for the attacks despite that most of the victims were muggleborns and there were high chances that she could be the next victim — which she was in the end.

In their third year, she risked Harry's wrath by telling Professor McGonagall about his new Firebolt, worried that Sirius Black would place a curse in place of an innocent gift. She'd gone back in time, knowing that it was illegal and they could've been likely killed, because she wanted to save Sirius for Harry, for him to have some semblance of a family. And hadn't she read books day and night just to help Harry in the Triwizard Tournament and worried herself sick whenever he was performing the tasks? Hadn't she pestered Dumbledore and tried to convince him that they should write to Harry that summer after fourth year, waited for him every night in the common room whenever he served detention from Umbridge, researched spells and tried to protect the secret of the DA, tried to persuade him from coming to the DOM for fear that his vision was true, led a professor to the centaur herd to stop her from cursing him, and almost died for him?

She knew she wasn't always successful in shielding him away from the awful stuff but she had done those things for him even though most of them were everything against her morals and virtues. At a young age, she had devoted herself to him — completely and absolutely. Everything that she did was for him and everything that she was was because of him.

Still, it wasn't enough.

"You don't have to lie to me, you know," she said to him.

He bristled. "Seriously, Hermione—"

"It's me, Harry," she interjected before he could raise his voice and therefore wake the whole house. Her gaze was steady on his. "You don't have to lie to me. Hadn't I done enough to warrant your trust?"

Harry went rigid. "You don't understand," he spat out viciously.

"Why? Because you think I don't know what loss feels like?" Hermione asked, feeling a bubble of emotion bursting inside of her. "I do, Harry. Don't you think that I understand more then everyone else in this house? I was there. I was there the whole time. Just because your loss is greater than mine, doesn't mean that I no longer understand. Remus was like a father to me and Tonks was a sister. Fred," she almost sobbed his name, "might not be close to me but I grew up with him, just like you did. I was there and I'm now here, and I can't accept your answer anymore, Harry, not when I know that you're hurting."

He leaned back away from her and flicked his eyes to the table, unable to meet her gaze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" He muttered, sinking into his seat.

"I've already done that, Harry. I tried to leave you alone and I don't berate you whenever you're shouting at someone. I've done that for months now but I can't do it anymore." She searched him with her eyes, desperate for him to look at her but his gaze stubbornly remained on the table. "I've tried to be patient, Harry. I really did. But you can't go on like this anymore and I just can't keep on pretending that there's nothing wrong with you. Please, Harry. Just, please, talk to me."

After Bellatrix had tortured her and while she was recovering in Shell's Cottage, she vowed to herself as she laid in bed, crying and cradling her bandanged arm, that she would no longer beg for anyone and not for anything. It humiliated her that Bellatrix had made her beg. She hated herself that the cruel witch had made her reduce herself into a crumpled mess on the carpeted floor with so much blood on her arm and a burning sensation on her skin where the awful word was carved. But, just like before, Harry made her break her promise, whether inadvertently or not. Harry was the only one who could do that. She was powerless when it came to him.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry, Hermione." Just like that, he broke down his walls with the help of those whispered words.

Hermione slowly slumped against her seat. And just like she, he was powerless when it came to her.

"I thought..." He lifted his head and he looked at the ceiling; a weak attempt to stop the tears in his eyes. "I thought that it would be over once he's dead, you know? That I would finally live peacefully once he's gone and he can't hurt me or the people that I love anymore. But... But I still can't sleep, Hermione. I keep on thinking that he's still there at the back of my head, waiting to attack me once I close my eyes and succumb to sleep, and I'm afraid that I won't be the one waking up in my body but him. I know it's unreasonable but I can't get it out of my head."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione reached her hand out and touched his hand with her fingertips. "Haven't you been sleeping at all?"

"I'm so afraid to the point that I don't sleep anymore, Hermione. I don't bother to try." He chuckled bitterly. "I thought that he would no longer haunt me once he's dead. I was wrong."

Her fingers wrapped themselves around his hand and grasped it tightly. His own hand flipped and their palms pressed against each other. Harry's eyes drifted shut and Hermione watched him take a calming breath, his thumb brushing her knuckles, drawing as much comfort from her as he could. After all those months, she had finally managed to crack the wall and Harry had finally let it crumble. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe he was too tired to fight her and create an excuse. Maybe he was tired of pretending and he just wanted someone to know the truth. She saw the large purple bruises underneath Harry's tired eyes and she wanted nothing more than to erase it away, just like she wanted to erase his pain and guilt away.

"Come on." She tugged his hand as she slid off the chair and stood in front of him.

His eyes opened and revealed wary green irises. "What is it?" He muttered, standing up to his feet and letting her pull him out of the kitchen. His eyebrows furrowed as they went upstairs in quick but quiet steps. "Where are we going?"

Hermione didn't answer him, choosing to squeeze his hand instead in case his impatience would awaken his slumbering anger. Thankfully, Harry seemed to accept her response although a noise did escape from his throat. They finally arrived at the third floor of the house, halting in front of a bedroom where Hermione knew was Percy Weasley's old room. Harry was currently staying in his room instead of sharing with Ron when the third Weasley child opted to stay in his flat after the second month of living with them . Percy likely had enough of the depressing state the occupants of the house had been. She pushed the door open and led Harry into the room before closing it gently behind her.

"What are we doing here, Hermione?" Harry asked, standing in the middle of the room and running a hand through his messy jet ink hair.

Hermione turned to him and silently crossed the threshold until the distance between them was a mere half meter. Harry stared at her as she wordlessly brought her hands up to his chest and pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the foot of Percy's bed. He unceremoniously plopped down on the mattress, confusion marring his face as she bent her knees and kneeled before him. She was glad that the candles were unlit or Harry would've spot two red spots on her cheeks.

"Hermione...?" There was a sudden hesitancy in his question, as though he didn't know whether to want to hear her answer or not.

"You're tired, Harry," she said at last as she took his shoes off. He didn't even put some socks on.

"What does it have to do with anything?" He replied exasperatedly.

She peered at him through her thick brown lashes. "I'm tired, too," she confessed in the dead of the night.

His breath hitched. "Hermione..."

She quickly rose to her feet and brushed his hair with her fingers, her thumb lingering on the lightning shaped scar on his forehead that defined him as the Boy Who Lived the moment he vanquished Voldemort on the night of his parents' deaths. It was the mark that labelled him a hero and a foe. Oftentimes, she was fixated on his scar; the innocent looking scar that had housed one of Voldemort's fractured souls inside, unknown to them all. The scar that had changed one little innocent boy's life. This was the scar that had started it all and the man who bore the scar was the one who ended it.

"Let's go to bed, Harry."

Hermione could feel his green eyes on her and, with her hand still on his head, she felt him nodding his acquiescence. Together, they moved towards the bed and laid on their side, facing each other; Harry on the right and she on the left. There wasn't any room for two people on the bed but they made do. Their bodies weren't touching, not one strand of her bushy hair reached his tousled hair, although Hermione felt his hot breath grazing her nose and cheeks, and felt the mattress sinking to his weight. They had never laid on one bed before, not even when they were in their Horcrux hunt. When Ron had left, the paranoia between them doubled. With one man down, it seemed that the two of them weren't enough for protection anymore. No matter how strong their wards were, it didn't stop the idea that it was them against the world. More often than not, they couldn't sleep, too afraid of what the night would bring, and the two of them would take watch together. Side by side, they would sit in front of their tent, hearts in their throats and wands ready in their hands just in case.

Hermione slowly shut her eyes. It seemed like a long time ago when she sat next to Harry by the fire, eyes scanning the silent and dark forest, grateful that she wasn't alone to face whatever horrors were waiting beyond. She remembered the pain present in her chest ever since Ron had left them and the tears sliding down her face every other night as she wondered where he was and what he was doing, if he was safe or if he had been captured. She remembered how everything felt so hopeless but she was determined to end the war with Harry, to stay by his side even though it would cost her life. She gave him the strength that he needed and, in return, he gave her some small amount of joy — but joy nonetheless — in her most hopeless moments. She honestly didn't know how she could survive if something were to happen to him.

Hermione didn't sleep that night and when the sun rose from the window behind her, she could see that Harry was also wide awake. However, despite the water beneath her eyelids and the dull ache in her forehead, she felt lighter than the last months before. Her heart didn't feel as heavy as yesterday and she could see that Harry's eyes had softened somewhat, no longer hardened. They were not speaking and their eyes hadn't wavered from each other, not even when they heard noises from three floors below, signalling that the others had already awaken and were now likely waiting for Molly to finish the meal she was preparing.

The comfortable silence between them shattered when someone knocked on the door. "Harry?"

It was Ron. Hermione was mildly shocked. Ron's footsteps were distinctive; loud and heavy, always rattling the wooden floorboards. She usually knew when Ron arrived because of his steps. However, this time, she hadn't heard him come.

Harry blinked in surprised, likely not hearing Ron beforehand. "Yes?" He called out to the close door, not moving his head. Instead, he slid his hand across the bed to intertwine his fingers with hers.

"Uhm, breakfast is ready," Ron hesitantly answered. "Mum's asking for you. Do you want to—"

"I'll join you later," Harry briskly interjected before he could complete his statement. "Thanks."

"Err, alright." His feet shuffled. "Err, have you seen Hermione? She's missing. Ginny said that she woke up without her in bed."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at her with a pointed expression. "It's your call," he whispered to her.

Hermione's fingers twitched inside of Harry's grasp. If Ron found out that she stayed in Harry's room half of the night, he would go berserk. They hadn't spoken about the kiss that they shared in the Final Battle; the kiss that was driven by adrenaline, fear, and a promise to make it through the night. After the battle, they didn't have time or the right emotions to talk about it. Too many lives had been sacrificed and taken, including Fred, whose death tore a hole in the Weasley family. Ron was grieving while Hermione had demons to face on her own. That didn't mean that there wasn't something there between them that could be disregarded, even though they were too much in pain to acknowledge it.

The same went to Ginny: Harry's ex girlfriend who was still hoping for the Boy Who Live to come back to her. Hermione always spotted the longing in her dark brown eyes whenever it landed on the green eyed hero of the Wizarding world. She was mildly surprised that Ginny hadn't approached and demanded him until she realized that the youngest Weasley child was probably hurting as well and needed as much space as possible before she embarked on another ride of romance with Harry. Although they weren't back together yet, everyone expected them to and was likely waiting for it to happen. Hermione didn't want to add Ginny's pain if she found out that she spent the night with Harry.

"Tell him you don't know," she whispered back.

Harry did so without question and Ron left after grumbling under his breath. Hermione laid there for a few short moments before deciding to rise from the bed, rustling the extra sheets and blankets beneath that she hadn't noticed the night before. She turned to Harry who shifted on his back and crossed his arms beneath his head, watching her silently as she tried to untangle the knots in her hair with little to no success. She had forgotten to brush it the night before and now she was suffering with the consequences in the morning. She took note that it was the second time she had forgotten to brush her hair again. In fact, she forgot several of her late night routines over the past year. It was likely because of their horcrux hunt; it didn't seem logical to carry on with her more feminine rituals while they were on the hunt for a madman's fragmented soul.

"I never noticed how much trouble you get with your hair," Harry said, pulling his upper body up to sit on the bed. "Here. Sit down on the bed."

Perplexed, Hermione sat at the foot of the bed, her body twisted as she faced him. When he suddenly grabbed a comb from the bedside table and settled behind her, legs folded under his thighs, she was shocked into silence. She slowly faced forward, turning her back to him, and her hands drifted to her lap as she felt his hands touching her hair and trying to comb and tame the knots. Harry worked through her hair, grunting when he came across a particular hard knot and murmuring apologies when he tugged too hard. She closed her eyes, welcoming the feel of his fingers through her hair, even the occasional sting on her scalp. It took a long while but her curls finally submitted to Harry's hands.

"No wonder you don't have any trouble writing essays before," he remarked as he flexed his fingers. "Your hair makes great practice for your hands."

Hermione laughed although it was softer than her usual laugh. She was careful not to alert anyone of her presence outside the four walls of Harry's room. Aside from Ron, Molly wouldn't be pleased if she discovered Hermione was in Harry's room. It bordered on impropriety to have a girl sleep in a boy's room, especially in his own bed. Molly was a pureblood witch with old fashioned views about women. It was one of the reasons why they often don't get along before. Like most of the pureblood wives, Molly believed that a witch's place was by her husband's side in his home, cleaning the house and raising his children, which Hermione vehemently didn't agree on. Hermione might submit to learning about household charms — with complains — but she would never be satisfied with being a wife and a mother in the family; it would likely drive her insane.

"You're the one to talk," she teased, flashing him a small smile. "As if you don't get enough practice on your own hair. You need a good comb, Potter."

She mussed his hair for good measure. Harry didn't laugh but his lips twitched into a faint smile and his eyes seemed to gleam just for a second — and it made her heart soar. It had been so long since she had last seen him truly smile. She stared at him, trying not to let her desperation leak through her eyes. She wanted to remember this moment, to burn it in her memories just in case. Harry matched her stare with his own, his expression unreadable. Hermione wondered what he was thinking, if he regretted letting down his walls and was now currently building them back up again. Hermione didn't want him to throw himself behind the wall and she clutched his hand before he could start thinking it.

He blinked his green eyes and his jaw dipped to his chin as he gazed at the tight hold she had on his hand. "You're not letting go, are you?"

It was such an innocent statement littered with a thousand different thoughts and underlying messages. You're not letting me go, are you? You're not leaving me alone again, are you? You're not going to let it end this way, are you? You're not giving up on me, are you? Hermione tried not to smile in case it showed her bitterness. Harry should know by now.

"No," she answered him in a voice that offered no room for arguments, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

He peered into her eyes and it took a long while for him to respond. "Thank you, Hermione," he muttered underneath his breath.

She gave him a grin. "Anytime, Harry." And she meant it.

She rose to her feet and left the room, throwing a smile over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. She paused and pressed a hand on the wooden door, felt the splinters and cracks beneath her palms, and she slid her hand off after a moment. Then she walked down the stairs, leaving a piece of her behind with Harry, just as Harry left a piece of himself that she carried downstairs with her.

Even her footsteps, as light as it was, felt even lighter.


	2. When There Is Peace, There Is Chaos

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.**

**Chapter Two**

**_When There Is Peace, There Is Chaos_**

_Brown hair streaked with grey. Kind honey eyes. A vine wood wand. A spell. A smiling girl slowly being erased from the picture._

Hermione woke up, heart pounding so hard against her ribcage that she almost worried that it would burst out of her chest. She blinked her eyes rapidly before finally slipping her eyelids close in a futile attempt to prevent the tears. Guilt and self-loathing tore right through her, filling the spaces inside of her with painful cuts and slashes. A pressure pressed heavily against her chest and even breathing felt like a chore than a necessity. She lifted her arm and covered the upper half of her face while her other arm twisted the sheets with her fingers. For a tiny second, she allowed herself to remember them and wondered where they were now, if they were happy and safe without a care of the world, never knowing that somewhere, they had a daughter who betrayed them by wiping herself clean from their whole lives. She remembered them — the scent of her father's clothes and the sound of her mother's singing — before ripping their images apart, stuffing it inside a box, and shoving them into the back of her mind where she could feel their haunting presence.

It took a moment for her heart to calm down and it took another one for her to realize that light was streaming through the barely opened window. She was astonished that she had made it through the night, although barely. A hard battle that she won but it was the small victories that mattered to everyone these days and months. She pulled herself up and scrubbed her face with her hands, ignoring how cold her palms felt against her flushed cheeks and hardly glancing at the prickling sensation beneath her bandanged arm that suggested that the wound was likely bleeding again. Her thrashing must've disturbed the wound again. She felt his fingers playing with her messy hair behind her and she was grateful that he didn't ask what she dreamed about.

"You okay?" She felt him sitting up, his chest brushing her side.

She turned her head to look into his evergreen eyes. "No," she answered. "But, then again, who is nowadays?"

A bitter smile marred his face. "Certainly not us."

She shared his smile and mussed his unkempt raven hair. "You need a haircut," she remarked.

"Tell that to yourself," Harry snorted, making her grin.

Another day had begun and Hermione knew that she was going to spend the day much like yesterday. She had developed a routine of some sort in the Burrow that she always followed through every day. She would wake up sometime before or after the sun rose before taking a shower and indulging herself in Molly's meals. After that, she would go to Hogwarts where she could help repair the ruined castle that was damaged by the battle that took place. She would help until lunch time before going back to the Burrow and read another one of her books until dinner time. By the time she was done with dinner, she would read some more and then go to sleep, knowing fully well that her nightmares would only disturb her rest.

When she would wake up in the middle of the night because of the nightmares, she would sneak out of her and Ginny's shared room to Harry's, no longer visiting the kitchen to slip inside of his bed and just lay there beside him. She knew most of the time he was awake and he would shift in his bed to make some space for her. On the rare times that he was asleep, she would wait until his dreams turned to nightmares, until he whimpered and panted in bed and he would wake up, tensed because of the unknown presence in his room before relaxing when he remembered that it was just her. They only laid side by side on the same bed together, never talking until the sun lit up the whole sky. These days, Hermione found herself sleeping again after a nightmare just as long as Harry was by her side although the nightmares would only chase her slumber away again. They didn't talk about her nightly visits although they both understood now that they would no longer be alone at night again.

It comforted Hermione that it was one of the things they shared that didn't need to be explained, not to her or to anyone else. She knew that neither Ginny, Ron, nor Molly would understand their arrangement if they ever found out about it. The routine helped her relax after constantly living on edge for the past year, wary of the next move she'd be making and never knowing what would happen in the next hour. She stuck by her routine like it was a religion, despite that Ron insisted constantly that she needed a change of pace. Ron, for all of his good intentions, really couldn't see that the change that he wanted could only be applied to him and not to her. She wanted peace and he wanted something wild that would undoubtedly bring her out of her comfort zone. Ron didn't understand that they all coped in different ways and she was tired of explaining it to him, knowing that he wouldn't listen unless she spoke about Quidditch or food.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered to him before getting up from the bed.

She slipped out of the door, closing it quietly behind her. Floorboards creaked under her weight but it wasn't enough to disturb the noise in the kitchen. She went inside of Ginny's room and paused momentarily when she saw the redhead was already sitting up in her bed, combing her gleaming red. The sunlight from the open window behind her made Ginny's skin glow a healthy and warm rosy color. The air, however, was damp and cold from the rain the night before. Hermione noted that Ginny must've recently came out of the shower since her hair was still wet. She wondered what the time was and how long she'd been (poorly) sleeping. She unconsciously tugged at her hair. Thankfully, Harry brushed her hair the night before so her hair wasn't the usual bushy mess that morning.

"Where were you?" She heard Ginny asking from her bed.

Hermione blinked and closed the door, walking across the threshold towards her open trunk and wincing as her feet came in contact with the cold floor. "Outside," she lied. "I was just walking for some fresh air. Did I wake you up?"

Ginny flipped her hair to her back and put her comb on her bedside table. "No. How's Hogwarts coming along?" She asked, grabbing a Quidditch magazine from the foot of her bed and flipping it open.

"Nicely," she answered, trailing her fingers down on the spines of her books inside her trunk before she grabbed one that interested her. "Professor McGonagall is certain that we will finish rebuilding the castle before September first."

"That's nice," Ginny commented idly, engrossed by the new edition of her favorite magazine.

Hermione hummed and didn't offer any comment. Unlike her, Ginny, along with Ron and Harry, decided it best to stay away from the castle, or more preferably, the bad memories that they associated with it. Ever since the Final Battle, they hadn't stepped foot on Hogwarts and Hermione couldn't find it within herself to blame them. The first day that she volunteered to help repair the school, she couldn't stop herself from vomiting because of the memories that had resurfaced in her mind after seeing the remains of the ruined castle. Before she knew it, she had started trembling so badly that she nearly fainted. The others were alarmed by her reaction and had demanded her to return to the Burrow but she stubbornly declined, saying that she could handle herself. She literally had to force herself to stop trembling as much as she levitated walls, fixed staircases and salvaged books.

What had hurt her the most was the fact that Hogwarts didn't have the same appealing quality that it once had before. What used to be a place filled with wonder was now filled with dread instead. One of the most prestigious school in the Wizarding World was reduced into a battlefield full of blood and the dead. A madman with his army had breached its walls and murdered children that had no place in the war. It had hurt her that the most wonderful memories that she once had was now tainted by the death that hang around the area of the school. Hermione honestly didn't know why she kept on coming back when all she could think about were flying curses, defeaning explosions, flashes of lights, and dead bodies. She honestly understood why Ginny, Harry or Ron, hadn't bothered to volunteer to fix the school. She definitely understood why George would leave the room whenever Molly asked her about the progress of the rebuilding of the magical school.

They were all damaged in a way, chipped at some places and cracked in other ones. It couldn't be avoided: no one remained untainted after the war. They witnessed and done far too much to be considered pure or innocent. However, Hermione could tell that everyone wanted to gain some sense of normality in their lives again after so many months of grieving and mourning, of remembering ghosts and lives that were stolen and would never return to them. The same went to Hermione; she craved the normality that they sought. She craved the laughter in the kitchen prompted by the Weasley twins, the Quidditch games in the yard that Ron always instigated, and the Nargles in the mistletoe that Luna insisted.

So, she tried to be the image of strength for them. She became attuned to their emotions, anticipating their needs before they even knew about them, and became the pillar that they needed to keep them standing. She was the one who made sure that they ate and who nagged at them whenever they did something she didn't like — just the same as before. It was her way of coping, of making sure that none of the sacrifices their dead made would be rendered futile. Everyone was teetering over the edge of the cliff, wanting to jump, and she was the one with the rope who would rescue them, probably jump after them herself if she had to. Maybe she was a fool for thinking that she could save everyone she loved but that had always been her core: the one that had always represented her. If Harry's core was to save others, Ron was to spread happiness, then hers was to help in every way she could. If she didn't do anything to help, it would ruin her.

"Mom told me that Fleur's pregnant," Ginny suddenly said.

Hermione paused. "You don't seem happy," she remarked, pulling her gaze from the text to eye the frown on her friend's bow shaped lips.

"Of course I am," Ginny said, almost sounding defensive. "I don't like Fleur that much but I'm happy for my brother. He's going to be a father after all, and I'm going to be an aunt." But she sighed and slumped in her bed, her head dropping on her pillow.

Hermione immediately closed her book with her index finger stucked in between the pages she was reading before turning to Ginny. "Again, you don't sound happy."

Ginny was quiet for a moment before finally answering, "I just think that we're moving on too fast for my liking. I mean... My brother died, Hermione. Shouldn't we grieve some more? Shouldn't we give more time before we start accepting he's gone?"

Hermione hummed. "But then again, when is the right time to stop grieving?" She remarked somberly. "When will we ever accept that he's gone? How can we accept it? We have grieved, Ginny. We grieve and we mourn every single day but I think that we owe the people who sacrificed themselves to get us the peaceful life that we wanted to continue with our lives, remembering them without aches in our hearts."

"I just think that it's... it's wrong," Ginny seemed to struggle to say. "They shouldn't have died. None of them should have." Her voice went smaller. "Fred shouldn't have."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. "I know," she murmured to her. "I know that you feel and think that it's unfair that you lost, and you're not the only one who thinks that way. We will always feel a sense of loss that we will carry for the rest of our lives but that doesn't mean that we will stop living. Don't you think it's unfair to those who left us that we wallow in our own misery, dishonoring their sacrifices by wishing that it was us instead of them?"

"I don't think I can get over it," Ginny said quietly. "I don't think I can move on just like them. It's... It's still too painful."

"No one is saying that it isn't. You can mourn all you want, Ginny. Take all the time that you need but you can't begrudge other people or stop them for wanting something else."

"And what do you want, Hermione?" She shifted her head, looking up at her with her eyebrows raised.

Hermione stared ahead at the wall past her head. "For the people I love to be happy, even after everything that had happened," she answered with finality before opening her book to continue reading and effectively dismissing Ginny.

Hermione heard her moving on the bed and she glanced up, watching her through her eyelashes, as Ginny went away. A quiet sigh escaped her lips and she went back to her book. Ginny probably thought that she was naïve because of her optimistic view of life despite of the bloodshed that happened but Hermione had always upheld her beliefs. Whether it was about the welfare of the house elves or the betterment of Wizarding Britain, she was simply too stubborn to give up or lose hope. She refused to because if she did, all she had fought for in the war would've been for naught.

All she had now was hope. Hope was the rope that tied her to the reality and prevented her from jumping into an abyss.

Hope that they didn't seem to have anymore.

The day went through quickly and before Hermione knew it, she was already in the living room and reading through her third book of the day. She barely recalled the people who tried to talk to her that day aside from Ginny when she was too absorbed by the words written across the yellowing pages. When the sun was starting to set, Hermione decided to stop reading and spend the rest of her time finding the other residents of the Burrow. She knew that George was in his room, likely drowning himself with Firewhiskey, Ron was probably outside, playing Quidditch by himself, Ginny was in the kitchen, most likely helping Molly prepare dinner, and Harry should be in his room today. As far as she knew, he hadn't come out since last night.

She stood up from the couch and stretched her arms, feeling the pop of unused joints. Her backside was numb from all the time she spent on the couch and she expected to feel the unpleasant feeling of pins and needles prickling her behind later on. She heard the front door opening and closing and she turned to smile at Arthur Weasley who was taking off his Ministry worker robes. She was about to greet him when she noticed the uncharacteristic grim expression on his face and she snapped her mouth close, eyeing him in apprehension.

"Mister Weasley," she said gingerly, "what's wrong?"

Her question didn't seem to surprise him as he released a resigned sigh. His attempt to smile only ended up as a grimace. "Can you call the others to the kitchen, Hermione? I have something to say."

Hermione stared at him and her stomach churned when he quickly averted his gaze. Something was terribly wrong if he was unable to look at her. The first initial thought she had was to demand answers from him but his defeated posture made her halt. She could ask questions later, right now she had to follow his request. She honestly didn't know how she had started working her feet to move and when she called each person in the house. She felt as though she was under the Imperius curse as her body went into motions to follow Arthur's request although her mind wasn't in it. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in her usual spot in the table between Harry and Ron. Ginny was beside Ron and George — that was a surprise. How had she persuaded him to come? — was beside Harry. They were eyeing the door, their muscles gathering tensions as they waited for Arthur and Molly to arrive.

"Do you think there's been an attack?" Rom voiced out hesitantly. It was the suspicion that they all had been thinking earlier.

"Don't say that," Ginny snapped at him, biting at her fingernails. It was a nervous habit that she had since she was a child. "Anyway, how can there be an attack, Ron? The Ministry has been capturing Death Eaters and putting them in Azkaban for good with success. There can't be an attack."

"You don't know that," Hermione countered, tugging at her hair, her lips pursed. "There can be Death Eater sympathizers out there for all you know. Just because we ended the war, it doesn't mean that people would start changing their beliefs. Voldemort was gone for ten years before and still, many people believe that muggleborns aren't worthy of magic. Take the Malfoys, for example."

"That's different," Ginny insisted. "The Malfoys were always one of the dark families in Wizarding Britain. Besides, the dark families didn't really fully believe that Voldemort was gone. I wouldn't be surprised if Draco Malfoy is starting a propaganda somewhere, especially since you pardoned him." She shot her last statement at the green eyed boy beside her.

Harry frowned at her. "I did what I have to do, Ginny," he argued back. "If his mother hadn't lied, I would've been dead. Mrs. Malfoy saved my life and all she wanted was for her son to be pardoned. I can't just ignore her request."

"Maybe you should've asked for something else then," she snarked, dark brown eyes flashing.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead. This was a fight that had been ongoing for weeks now without any signs of stopping. One of the reasons why Ginny and Harry were still on the fence with each other was the fact that Harry had defended the Draco Malfoy in his trial as a favor from Narcissa Malfoy, the witch who had saved Harry's life, three weeks after the Final Battle. Ginny wanted Malfoy to be put into Azkaban, especially since his father, Lucius Malfoy, had traumatized her back when she was eleven. She insisted that Malfoy deserved it for being a Death Eater and for releasing Voldemort's inner circle into Hogwarts back when they were in their Sixth Year — Fifth for Ginny. Ginny had all of Ron's support and, together, they both tried to persuade Harry to decline to give a testimony to Malfoy's trial.

Unfortunately for them, Harry didn't listen and proceeded to defend Malfoy instead. Now, Malfoy was pardoned and was currently roaming free somewhere in Wizarding Britain with a trace on his wand and a warning stamped on his back that if he was caught messing with the Dark Arts, he would be hauled away in Azkaban with no trial. To say that Ginny was displeased would be the understatement of the century. She was, as Ron had put it, 'bloody furious'. She had refused to speak to Harry for a few weeks and when she finally did, it was only to convey her wrath about his decision. Harry would either match her anger with his own or ignore her remarks. Usually, with the state that Harry was in most of the time, it was the former.

Frankly, Hermione was getting tired of their never ending arguments. It was painful listening to the same points over and over again, and never coming to a solution that could end the fight. She was beginning to wonder if it was karma working its own magic on her. Harry had been subjected to her's and Ron's arguments before. She wouldn't be surprised if this was a pay back to all of the years that Harry had to endure listening to them bicker over the simplest things.

Much to her relief, before the fight could escalate further into a shouting match, the door opened and Arthur and Molly Weasley stormed into the room. They all straightened their spines in attention. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she spotted Molly's swollen eyes and heard her sniffling before she turned her back to them under the pretense of making dinner. Dread gathered in her stomach the more she observed the couple. Molly had been crying and, if she were to guess, it was most likely because of Arthur's news. That meant that something terrible had happened if it had reduced Molly into a crying mess.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded, scrutinizing her parents. "What's wrong?"

Arthur sighed. "I just heard a law that had been reinstated earlier this afternoon," he started, pulling out a seat and sitting down heavily across them. "The Wizengamot just announced it to us a while ago."

"What law?" Harry questioned, his voice was steely, as though he was expecting something awful from the Ministry's council.

Arthur rubbed his face. Hermione had never seen him so dismal before. He had always been the image of calm and joy despite the bleak times that they suffered through before. However, Hermione could see that whatever the Wizengamot had announced had really rattled him. Even George managed to come out of his drunken stupor to regard his father suspiciously. Everyone was starting to grow uneasy as they watched the ongoing conflict on Arthur's face. A bad feeling had settled in Hermione's chest, her hands curling on her lap as she struggled to make sense of the emotions coursing through her.

"Before I begin," he finally said, "I'd just like for you to know that if I had known beforehand, I would've done everything in my power to stop it. You have to believe that Molly and I don't like this more than you do."

"Don't like what?" Ron asked, shifting in his seat and cringing when the chair screeched across the floor because of his jerky movements.

Ginny glared at Ron. "Stop that," she hissed before turning to her father. The angry scowl on her face softened into a soft, reassuring smile. "Dad, whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

Arthur shook his head, blue eyes forlorn. "No, Ginny," he sighed. "As much as I want to tell you that it's going to be fine, it's not going to be. You see, this law is an archaic one that the old members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had passed before in the late 1940's before it was reinstated today."

Unbidden, Hermione scoured through her mind about the laws in the late 1940's that she encountered while she was researching for a way to save Buckbeak back when she was just fourteen. One particular law stood out in the front of her mind, as though there were arrow signs pointing at it, and she couldn't help but to gasp and pale dramatically. She ignored the stares she garnered as she recalled the law that she had immediately been disgusted about as soon as she read it. It was a section that she stumbled upon by pure accident and she remembered feeling repulsed by it because it took away a wizard's and witch's freedom. It was barbaric, unjust, and unfair.

She stiffened as she suddenly came into a conclusion that nearly knocked her off her feet if she wasn't sitting in the first place. She stared at Arthur's crestfallen eyes. "Oh, no. Please don't tell me that they agreed to that law," she pleaded to him, scanning his face for any hint of deception or lies.

He pursed his lips, not surprised that she was the first to guess what he meant. "I think you and I both know that the Ministry will do whatever it takes for the people to know that they are in control again."

Before Hermione could remark about how she felt regarding to that law, an owl swooped in from the open kitchen window and landed on an armrest. Fearing the worst when she saw the rolled newspaper in its claws, she rose to her feet and stalked towards the bird before the others could to grab the newspaper from its hold. She stared hesitantly at the paper and almost startled when the owl hooted impatiently behind her. She immediately gave the owl some biscuits and put some Sickles inside its Galleon pouch and the owl immediately flew out after consuming its treats. Her hands were shaking, betraying her barely concealed anxiousness, as she unrolled the Daily Prophet. Inch by inch, the headlines were revealed before her eyes.

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC'S MARRIAGE LAW OF 1946: REINSTATED!**

Her stomach dropped to her feet and her heart leaped to her throat. Her mouth went dry and her knees nearly gave out under her weight. She had to lean her back against the wall just to make sure she wouldn't crumple on the floor. Her lungs burned, the urge to breathe became insistent, and she realized that she had unintentionally held her breath the moment she read the headlines. She exhaled deeply and forced to steady the rise and fall of her chest, careful not to inhale or exhale too much air. She barely registered someone snatching the paper from her hands when the Daily Prophet had just confirmed her fears.

"Tell me this is just a joke!" She distantly heard Harry shouting and she turned to find him gesturing wildlly with his hands at Arthur. The newspaper was in his grasp. "Are you kidding me?! They can't do this to us!"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered and shot up from his seat to head towards Harry and his father.

Hermione was suddenly aware that George was beside her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her. In her dazed state, she managed to be mildly stunned that George would offer comfort to her when, most of the time, he didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings. George was still left with the bitter reminder that there should be someone else beside him that resembled his face and mannerisms, that shared his grin and love for trouble, that was his best friend and the other half of his soul. Every other day just like this one, he would drown his sorrows with the help with alcohol just to bear with the pain.

Hermione didn't know why he chose that moment to put aside his grief in order to comfort her. She didn't know why he decided to when he seemed to stop caring about anything anymore ever since Fred had died. All she knew was the tug she felt in her heart, thankful that he was there for her while her other friends bombarded Arthur with demands and questions. It might be momentary, a slight pause before he'd continue to live a half life, but it was enough for Hermione that George had granted her his strength when he had barely none. At the moment, he was probably the strongest person among them all.

Feeling her stare on his person, George turned his turquoise eyes at her and he grimaced. Hermione had a feeling that he was trying to make her feel better. "Hey, you alright?" He asked, his voice soft and hoarsed from the times he spent without speaking.

Hermione gulped down the psuedo rock that was lodged in her throat, feeling it drop down her stomach. "They can't do this to us," she whispered, repeating Harry's words earlier. She heard Harry screaming at Arthur and Ron's and Ginny's voices joining him but it was as though her mind had been clouded and their voices were nothing above whispers. She ignored them in favor of staring into George's eyes. "Haven't they done enough to us already?"

George's eyes hardened, almost resembling ice. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I'm sure that Ron won't let you down."

_'Again' _went unsaid but Hermione could feel it weighing down on her shoulders. The words unsaid tasted like poison and it tainted everything it touched. She couldn't help but wince as she felt a twinge in her chest when the memory of Ron abandoning them — her — flashed across her mind. Even though she had forgiven Ron for what he did, that memory would always be accompanied with heartbreak. Deep inside her heart, she knew that Ron would try to be better to her once they were done grieving but there was always this irrational fear that niggled at the back of her head, insisting that he would leave her again just like the last time. She silenced that voice for a moment to give George a response.

"No, you don't understand," Hermione whispered. "I read about that law and it completely takes away everyone's free will. It was meant to repopulate the Wizarding community after they barely won against Grindelwald's forces. Haven't you noticed that it was passed just after a year Dumbledore defeated him? Compared to before, our numbers now are significantly lower, especially since we experienced two consecutive wars. They reinstated that law to breed us like cattle," she spat out viciously. "We can't leave the country because it would be considered as treason. They would snap our wands and then bind our magic before removing our memories and implant false ones."

Turquoise eyes flickered with uncertainty. "Then what are we going to do now?"

Hermione's throat moved. "We are entirely in their mercy. We have no choice but to comply."

Hermione had never seen George afraid before until he discovered the dead body of his twin brother. Shaken? Yes. Angry? Sometimes. Uncertain? Maybe once or twice. Annoyed? A lot of times considering that she used to nag him and Fred — it pained her that there would never be a 'them' anymore — about using the First Years as test subjects of their highly dangerous products. However, she saw the exact moment when his eyes flashed in fear as soon as she ended her statement. He was as afraid as she was.

"This is unfair!" Hermione heard Ginny shrieking and she turned to find the redhead glaring accusingly at her father. "I can't believe that you'd allow this, Dad!"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Don't you dare raise your tone at your father!" Molly admonished her, finally turning around and acknowledging them with her hands on her hips. Her eyes weren't as swollen and her nose wasn't as red as before. "Show some respect!"

Ginny recoiled back and pursed her lips, eyes filtered with resentment as she curled her hands into balls. "Are you just going to let this happen?" She demanded, gaze darting between her parents.

"Can't we do something?" George voiced out to his father, licking his chapped lips. "I'm sure that Kingsley would help us. He's the acting Minister of Magic, isn't he?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I talked to him earlier and Kingsley told me that he's in a bind. The Wizengamot has tied his hands. He has no choice but to reinstate that law to ensure the survival of the Wizarding world. Apparently, it was an international decision. The other leaders of the Wizarding world came earlier today in the Ministry to talk about our dwindling numbers in Britain. The best solution they could only think of was the Marriage Law of 1946. The leaders had voted and 7 out of 10 in favor of the law. The leaders also thought that if the Marriage Law was reinstated, then it would force purebloods to merge with muggleborns. They hope that with the law, prejudices and discrimination against muggleborns aren't as worse as the last time."

Hermione pursed her lips. As much as she hated it, the logical side of her understood what Arthur informed them about. The Wizarding race in Britain was a dying one, verging close to extinction. They had suffered through three wars — one from Grindelwald and two from Voldemort — and more than half of them were still recovering from the damage more than anything. If they didn't provide solutions to that problem, magic could die out in Britain. The number of squib births were increasing and Hermione had already noticed a decline of muggleborn students when Voldemort started killing muggle families with muggleborn children. Since the killing began, muggleborn children convinced their parents to move out of Britain to avoid suffering into the hands of the Death Eaters. Hermione was one of the few muggleborns that decided to fought in the war. Although there was a possibility that the number of muggleborn births might increase this year and could continue to keep magic alive in Britain, who was to say that the purebloods would let them? While they won the war, prejudices and discrimination was still a continuing battle. There would always be wizards and witches who believed that muggleborns were inferior to them, especially the conservative pureblood families. Mixing blood through marriage might not be the best solution that the Ministry could provide, however it was probably the best solution out of some bad options.

However, while she might understand, the stubborn and feminist part of her detested the law. It meant that she was a fair game or prize to purebloods, half-bloods, and even to her fellow muggleborns. She felt like a window display where people would examine her before choosing to purchase her or not. Although most of them were of age, they were still barely adults, especially Ginny, and they had a full life ahead of them — and the Ministry decided to plan it accordingly to their utmost benefit. It went against everything she believed in: her virtues, ethics, and morals. They deserved to choose someone they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with and the Ministry would be preventing that. The people was still recovering and the Ministry was now hurling them into an abyss filled with uncertainty and doubts. Their whole lives were in their hands to play with and Hermione loathed it. It hadn't even been a year and yet, they were already trying to put collars around their neck just to make it appear as though they were the ones who were in control. Because of the law, she was nothing more than a mare for them to breed. It disgusted her.

"To hell with the law!" Harry spat, flinging the Daily Prophet on the floor and not caring how the pages scattered on his feet. His green eyes were alight with anger as he seethed at Arthur. "I will never agree to this. Kingsley can shove that law up his ass!"

Molly gasped and opened her mouth to scold him but Harry stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ginny followed Harry's example and used the back door to help her escape and Ron shuffled his feet on the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable. Hermione noticed him glancing surreptitiously at her and she faced him, wondering what he wanted as his face reddened and he ducked down his head; his red fringe prevented her from seeing his expressions. She was puzzled by his actions; he almost seemed shy somehow. However when he still refused to meet her gaze, she shifted her eyes to Arthur, choosing to ask Ron later. There were more pressing matters to concern themselves over. Arthur must've seen something in her eyes because he winced.

"I'm really sorry," Arthur said, apparently not seeing any option for them to disobey the law.

Hermione didn't see one too and she was supposed to be the one who held most of the answers and solutions.

She pursed her lips. "Me too."

She was sorry that the world that she had fought for was now reducing her worth as a witch. Casting George a thankful look, she turned on her heel and left. She didn't know where she wanted to go next so she let her feet and subconscious guide her to a destination. By the time she had realized where she was, she had already pushed the door open to reveal Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, head down between his knees that were tightly wrapped to his chest by his arms. She knew that she shouldn't be there, that Harry needed his space, and she could only serve to anger him further if she said or did something. But she also knew better than to leave him alone. She stepped into the room, ignoring the clothes strewn across the floor and stepping over the broken trinkets that Harry must've thrown in a fit of anger. She stopped in front of him and slowly sat beside him, the mattress creaking at the additional weight.

"I don't want to deal with you right now, Hermione," he said, his voice muffled. He sounded serious.

She didn't say anything but lift her legs to fold on her side and leaned her head on his shoulder. She gazed outside the window and let Harry's warmth seep through her. She didn't offer kind words or furious remarks against the Ministry. She didn't ask what he felt or tell him what he needed to do. She didn't nag him for screaming at Arthur and Molly or tell him to fix the things he had broken. She didn't tell him that she was as angry and as horrified as he was. She only lent him silent companionship that he easily returned.

The next few weeks would be painful to trudge through. The people couldn't protest against the new law, not when they didn't want to wage another war against the Ministry and therefore decrease their already low numbers, and not when the Ministry had the power to snap their wands or throw them into Azkaban Prison to teach them a lesson. She honestly didn't know which punishment was the worst. The Ministry would expect the people to obey, especially the war heroes and heroines. They would never stop hounding them until they flash a smile to the mass to convince them that what the Ministry was doing was for the good of their country. She knew that the Ministry wasn't above using them for their benefit.

This was the world she had fought for and against to prove that she was worthy of magic just as much as the rest of them, and they were returning her efforts and sacrifices by selling her to the highest bidder.

"When will it ever be enough?" She whispered hoarsely.

Harry didn't answer. He only unclasped his hold on his knees, putting his feet on the floor, and wrapped her shoulders with one of his arms, making her lean closer to his chest. Hermione felt his fingers stroking her hair and his erratic heartbeat against her ear. She closed her eyes. Frankly, he didn't need to answer her. He could just hold her like this for a while and she could pretend that everything was the same as before Voldemort came into power even though reality would give her a harsh wake up call later on. She could stay like this forever and knew that Harry wouldn't mind her. She held on to him just a little bit tighter and if Harry was uncomfortable with her leaning against him, he didn't say anything.

Right then and there, the shared silence between them was enough for her to make it through the chaos that the next few weeks would bring. She could only hope that it was enough for Harry as well.

**Edit Note: **I added Hermione's monologue about the marriage law. It isn't really that much though but enough to explain some things why she thinks why the Ministry did it.


	3. When There Is No Other Choice But To—

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.**

**Chapter Three**

**_When There Is No Other Choice But To—_**

The next few weeks, as Hermione had predicted, was pure and utter chaos. The people had shown their displeasure about the marriage law and had rallied and petitioned for repealing it. However the Ministry had merely stated, in a public declaration led by Kingsley Shacklebot as their acting Minister of Magic, that their protests, while valid, would be unacceptable as they brought upon new order into their society. When they had began snapping wands in front of the rally, the protests had quickly died out and the people chose to submit to the Ministry's wishes with glares and grumbles. The purebloods valued their magic too much to consider becoming a muggle and the half-bloods and muggleborns were trapped in a world of wonder filled with magic to even consider leaving it. As far as Hermione had obrserved, in order to show to the public that the Ministry was no longer controlled by Voldemort's infiltration, the Ministry had become ruthless and merciless.

A week passed since the law had been reinstated and Hermione had already taken residence in the newly restored Hogwarts library, exhausting books about the Marriage Law of 1946 that had been repealed after five years when magical blood began to increase from both the pureblood and muggleborn sides. All her sources hadn't given her much information that she didn't know beforehand. However, she had discovered that their goals at that time had been met with fantastic results, something that still sounded surreal to Hermione. That was until she remembered that it was 1946 and most women likely didn't care about the law as long as they married a rich and/or a handsome husband. They didn't have a problem producing children and heirs for their husband when that was the only thing that had been instilled in them since they were little girls.

It was truly no wonder why the Ministry was expecting the same results as the last time. It wasn't the same as the Triwizard Tournament where people had been recorded to die in the event and where young adults have been blinded by the idea of eternal glory for thinking about joining said event. What they were promoting was rape, simple as that. No matter how much they tried to sugarcoat the truth, no matter how many times they insisted it was for their country, it was still rape and the public knew it. It was too bad that the Ministry were fools for not seeing it.

Just the the other day, Kingsley tried to persuade them to accept and 'see reason', stating that he needed to put the law into effect to appease the other leaders of the Wizarding world because he didn't have a choice. Kingley's visit just proved to them that they weren't exempted from the law despite the efforts they contributed in the war. He wanted them to be examples, to accept the law so that other people could finally stop resenting the Ministry's decisions. After quite a nasty earful from Molly and herself, avoiding a hex from Harry and Ginny, and nearly missing Ron's punch, the acting Minister of Magic never visited the Burrow again. Needless to say, their friendly relationship with Kingsley Shacklebot was blasted into smithereens. Everyone in the Burrow was either seething quietly or ranting loudly since then. Hermione alternated between the two but she was usually the former on most days.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron shouted at her the moment she stepped out of the Floo Network, barely acknowledging the soot and the mountain of parchment in her arms. He stalked towards her in a brisk and large pace, ears brightening into red as he bristled. "We haven't seen you since this morning! What's going on?"

Hermione eyed him, perplexed. "I was in Hogwarts. I told you that I was researching about the Marriage law this morning."

His ears reddened for a different reason this time. "I didn't... I haven't known." He turned and yelled behind him. "Ginny! Why didn't you tell me that Hermione was in Hogwarts?!"

"Because you were being an ass," was Ginny's answer as she strutted towards them. She addressed Hermione. "So? What did you learn?"

Hermione sighed. "It wasn't much."

"What do you mean?" Ginny demanded, eyebrows raising to her hairline.

"Well, the good news is that half of the rules in the law are outdated," Hermione informed her. "Therefore, it is an unfit law in today's society but the Ministry can always change some rules to make it appear modern and therefore, acceptable." She wanted to put air quotation marks as she spoke the last word but the books and parchments in her arms prevented her.

"Well, that sucks." Ginny looked at her with expectant eyes. "What's the bad news?"

Hermione tugged her hair. "The bad news is that the Marriage law was successful when they implemented it back in the late 1940's. The Ministry are obviously hoping for the same results."

"Well, then we'll give them different results!" Ginny declared, waving her hand wildly around the air.

"It's not that easy, Ginny," she told her whilr shaking her head.

"Well, I'm not just going to sit here and let them dictate my life!" Ginny shrieked. "The Ministry is messing with our lives and we can't just lie down and let them! In a few days time, they're going to match us with someone who's either a Death Eater or someone equally as horrible as that!"

"I'm doing everything that I can, Ginny," Hermione snapped. "Look, I don't like this as much as you do. Do you think that I want to be matched with a Death Eater who hates me because of my blood? I have written to the Ministry every single day, telling them to reconsider and they had already blacklisted me this morning as threatened me that they'd snap my wand. Never mind that I helped win the war, those ungrateful bigots!"

"Oy! Lay off her, Ginny." She heard Ron saying to the youngest Weasley child as she stormed off.

Hermione's blood was boiling as she seethed. She slammed the door shut behind her as she stalked across her's and Ginny's shared room. She unceremoniously dumped the load in her arms at the foot of her bed, plopped down on the mattress, grabbed a pillow and pressed it against her face before letting out a frustrated scream that was muffled by the pillow. Ginny's words echoed in her mind and she hated how her words, as anger-driven as they were, had made her feel as though she was useless.

Contrary to popular belief, she didn't have all the answers in the world and she was tired that the people was expecting that from her. A lot of people had depended on Hermione to solve the problem, to search for the right answers to stop the Ministry's so-called 'good' intentions. It was disappointing, even to herself, that the area she was most experienced and well-known for had failed her. The law was too outdated, too archaic, and too successful that she felt at lost at what to do. Even though she could present them bullet points and graph charts and color coded schemes, it would be a moot point when the Ministry had turned a deaf ear towards the protesters and complaints.

She let out a sigh and massaged her temples, feeling a dull ache pounding in her skull. She hadn't gotten any sleep ever since the announcement broke out and shattered the peace that they were painfully reconstructing. She ran an agitated hand through her frizzy hair, her mind racing through other possible solutions that didn't involve engaging them into a bloody battle. She wanted nothing more than to storm into the Ministry and harass each and every witch and wizard responsible for reinstating the law. But she wasn't Harry: she wasn't impulsive and rash, fueled by passionate emotions. She was just Hermione: she was all work and no play, supported by the facts written inside her books. The fight had left her and all she wanted was peace.

Hermione glanced at the books and parchments on the bed and scowled.

Someone knocked on the door and she snapped her head to find that Harry had already came into the bedroom, frowning at her. His eyebrows shot up at seeing the state that she was in.

"I heard you already came home," he said, crossing the room towards her. "You look..."

"Horrible?" She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know."

Harry smiled slightly although his eyes were listless. "So? What did you find?"

Hermione's smile slowly waned. Telling Ginny had been easy but admitting to Harry the same thing was hard. She knew that one of the people he was counting on her the most to find a solution to end the Ministry's madness. She averted her gaze, rubbing her neck before telling him the same information she imparted to Ginny and Ron. She braced herself when she saw the anger crossing his face.

"So, that's it, then?" He grounded out through gritted teeth. "There's nothing we can do about it?"

Hermione watched her twiddling thumbs. "No," she intoned. "Not unless the Ministry's going to listen to us soon."

She heard him curse under his breath. On another day, she would've reprimanded him but she didn't have the heart to do it now. She was too beaten by the fact that she had failed them. Just like before, her efforts weren't enough. She wasn't good enough.

_'I'm doing everything that I can—'_

_'You're not doing enough!'_

"I'm sorry, Harry." Her whispered words carried across the room to him. "I'm sorry that I failed you."

Harry flicked his eyes to her and sighed resignedly. He crossed the room and sat next to her, drawing her close to his chest. She burrowed her face into his neck, eyes squeezed shut as hot tears slid down her face. Her shoulders shook and jumped as she sobbed her frustrations out. Her whole life was going to change and she didn't even have the power to stop it.

"Why can't we just leave?" Harry voiced out quietly, tightening his grip on her shoulder. "Why don't we just go far away from here? Away from the law, where no one can bother us."

"And leave the Weasleys?" Hermione sniffled. "We can't leave them to this state, and if we do, they're going to catch us, Harry, and snap our wands. All the sacrifices we've done for this country will be in vain."

"Then we'll rally the people," Harry stated, determined. "We'll protest against the Ministry. I'm sure that once they see that the Marriage law is not in our favor, they would join us. Together, we'll march to the Ministry and—"

"And let those people fight again when they had already lost so much?" Hermione cut him off, her shoulders slumped. "We've been fighting all of our lives, Harry. I don't doubt that they're going to listen to you but they had already experienced enough terror to last a lifetime."

"So, we're just going to let them, then?" Harry exclaimed, exasperated by her refutes, jostling her as he straightened and waved his hand before slapping his thigh. "What happened to your spirit, Hermione?"

Harry didn't see the bitter smile that engulfed her lips and Hermione didn't voice out that her spirit died alongside their friends.

"I know you're mad, Harry," she told him in a soft voice, trying to soothe him. "Trust me, I don't want this for us. I envisioned a different peace after the war, not this... this orderly chaos." Her lips quivered. "I'm still young. I don't want to get married and I hate this. I hate how helpless I feel because of this. I'm trying... I'm trying so hard to be strong for everyone of you. And I'm just so tired. I'm tired of fighting, Harry." She peered into his eyes. "Is it selfish of me if I let it happen just so I can get the peace that I crave?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "This isn't peace, Hermione," he told her.

"I know," she intoned. "But then again, this is the closest one we can get."

**~~ooOOoo~~**

"Ouch!" Hermione yelped as Ginny pulled her hair too hard, yanking her head back. Her eyes watered at the sting. "That hurt!"

"Psh. You survived a war, Hermione. A little pulling can't hurt that bad. Just sit still and stop complaining," Ginny said flippantly behind her as she attempted to tame her hair into submission. "Merlin, I don't know how you survive with your hair. Do you even brush it?"

Hermione slumped her shoulders, sulking. "I do," she grumbled and winced she caught her own eye in the mirror. "I can't believe that I'm doing this."

"Well," Ginny clicked her tongue and frowned, "it's not as if they gave us another choice. Stupid law."

Hermione only gave the younger witch a weary smile. Ginny still had a few months to wait before she would receive a match provided by the Ministry. She was still sixteen although the Ministry expected her to abide by their rules, namely attending the medical and magical check up this afternoon that was conducted by the St. Mungo's Hospital. Thus the reason why Ginny was putting pins and trying to braid her hair, saying that she needed to look presentable to the public, especially since she was one of the most famous war heroines in their time. Normally, Hermione would put up a big fight however this time, she had let her, knowing that it kept the redhead occupied. Ginny, for all of her temperamental and indignation, didn't need to voice out that she was afraid the Ministry would give her a match that wasn't Harry.

Hermione winced as Ginny tightened the braid. She wanted nothing more than to use one of Ron's cuss words just to express the pounding pain in her head. If she didn't know any better, she'd assume that Ginny did it on purpose. Finally, the redhead retreated a step, nodding in satisfaction after declaring that she was finished. Hermione glanced at herself in the mirror and unconsciously reached out to tug her hair before stopping as she realized that her normally wild and free hair had been braided and bound by a white ribbon. Her normally color free face was now caked with light make up that Ginny forced to put on her. Her lips looked fuller, her eyes were bigger, and her face was freckled free. For the first time since the Yule Ball and Fleur's wedding, she was actually wearing make up again and just like before, she managed to come out as a swan instead of an ugly duckling.

She stared at her face and gulped down the lump that had formed in her throat. She tried not to show her discomfort to avoid offending Ginny. It was a strange sight to witness: instead of a bushy haired and bucktoothed awkward teenager, she was staring at a beautiful woman, body ripe with her hips sharp, her stomach flat, and her breasts full. She looked healthy and young, not half starved and deathly pale. She didn't look as though she had fought in battle and witnessed colleagues and friends dying; she looked as any other young woman in her own age. In another world, in another time, where she didn't suffer and fight in a war, Hermione could imagine herself looking like the women in the mirror. It saddened her and filled her with longing, seeing what she lost if she had chosen a different path.

"So?" Ginny inquired with an impatient note in her tone, never noticing the dark mood the older witch had taken. "What do you think?"

Hermione licked her lips and eyed herself once again. Somehow, it didn't feel right to see her so beautiful when she was broken inside. Underneath the pretty face and the stunning dress that accented her body was a clever woman torn by war. A woman whose worth was more than the marriage law was providing. When they saw her, they would expect some docile would-be bride who would obey to the whims of her husband. They didn't know the outspoken and passionate woman beneath. They wouldn't want to know her modernistic ideals and radical views, the causes that she desperately fought for and protected. They would be deceived by this illusion that Ginny created. She clenched her hands into fists. She felt like one big lie.

"It's alright," Hemione said, voice catching. She was getting far too emotional over her looks. She cleared her throat and watched as her hands smoothened her skirt that brushed her knees. "I still think that it's unnecessary, though. I'm going to cast a Notice Me Not charm on us as soon as we arrive there."

"Yes, and before you cast the charm, the people would notice you at first and I'm not going to let them see you looking frumpy as usual." Ginny scoffed. "And, Hermione, you think all girly things are unnecessary. Now, come on. The boys are waiting. We don't want to be late for our check up, do we?"

"Well, we both know that it's your fault," Hermione snarked. She pulled her dress up tighter to her chest and made sure for the nth time that it wasn't slipping off anytime soon. She was uncomfortably wearing a gold sleeveless dress with three layers of skirt that flowed whenever she walked. Unlike Ginny's other dresses, it needed to be tied instead of zipped in the back and it exposed her neck, a hint of cleavage, and her collarbones that were jutting out of her skin. She was still regaining the weight she had loss although, thankfully, she wasn't nearly as thin as before. "I can't believe that you're making me wear this. And to think that this is one of your tamer dresses."

Ginny snorted. "Well, you didn't want to wear the pink one and you certainly almost blew up the violet one."

"The pink one was backless and has a slit on the side that ended just an inch below my groin." Hermione glared at her. "Also, don't get me started on that violet one."

"There's nothing wrong in dressing up to feel better about yourself," Ginny defended herself, shrugging and making her temporarily curled hair bounce on her shoulders. "Now, stop complaining and let's go."

Before Hermione could have the last word, the younger witch had already sashayed out of the room, exuding confidence in her gait that the brunette didn't have it in her to possess. Ginny had every reason to be confident about herself: she was beautiful with a rosy skin complexion, heart shaped face, bright red hair, and mischievous hazel eyes. Despite that she was a year younger, she was taller than Hermione with long legs and although her breasts were small, the rest of her body was all curves. The green dress Ginny was wearing brought out all of her fantastic equipments that she had no trouble flaunting. She could only imagine Harry's reaction once he saw the girl he loved looking so beautiful.

Hermione casted a look at herself in the mirror and sighed when she could no longer see one trace of the bushy haired girl anymore before shaking her head and following after the redhead. She took careful steps down the stairs, watching her feet and ignoring her unease at wearing such high heels. At the last three steps, she looked up and promptly faltered, eyebrows rising when she saw that she had garnered more attention than she cared to admit. Molly's eyes were wet, Ginny was positively beaming, George was eyeing her with wide sober eyes, Harry looked as though he was in a deep trance, and Ron was staring at her like she was Merlin reincarnated. It felt the same as the Yule Ball all over again that an uncertain smile curved her lips as she took the last three steps.

"Hi," Hermione said, trying not to feel self conscious. She had no reason to be embarrassed, after all. "What are you all waiting for?"

Ron was the first one who seemed to finally gather his wits. He moved towards her, the blues in his eyes softening as he took her hand and reverently caressed her knuckles. "You look so beautiful, 'Mione," he breathed out in awe.

The sincerity leaking out from his voice was enough for Hermione to ignore the abhorred nickname that her peers insisted to call her and a bright smile lit up her face. "Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand.

They all left to St. Mungo's using the Floo Network. Green flames filled her vision until it dissipated into the wizarding hospital's lobby. Unlike before, it was full of wizards and witches that were of age and even older. Bachelors, bachelorettes, widows, spinsters, and so on and so forth. They weren't exempted from the law as long as the witches could produce children and as long as wizards could father children. This was the first testing that the Ministry insisted upon in order to determine who were fit enough to uphold the law. The test was to ensure the witches' fertility and stability of their magic while the wizards were tested in their capability to father children. If they were unfit, then they would get an exception pass from the Ministry.

She stepped out of the fireplace and walked to the side, waiting for the others to arrive. The amount of people in the room made her wary and she made sure that she kept her back to the wall, eyes darting around for any signs of danger. She sighed in relief when George came out and stood right next to her. Next was Ginny, and then Ron. Other people was starting to notice them so, Hermione immediately casted a Notice Me Not charm around their area. As soon as Harry came out of the fireplace, the fire reflecting his eyes, he immediately drew attention, especially from some witches who wanted nothing more than to become Mrs. Boy Who Lived, much to Ginny's ire. After all, if they couldn't get away from the law, they might as well catch the most sought after wizard in the Wizarding world. She quickly casted a Notice Me Not charm on Harry which he noticed and immediately sent her a grateful look for.

"Come on," Hermione said, opting to take charge when she noticed how uncomfortable Harry looked. She ignored the shiver of unease that went down her spine. "We'll have to make it quick. Arthur and Percy already made an appointment for us."

She strode quickly past the horde of waiting witches and wizards, confident that they would follow behind her. The grip she had around her wand didn't slacken, in case the Notice Me Not charm she casted on them would falter while they were surrounded by power hungry individuals that would whatever it took to have the power they had. She took a right turn, trusting the instructions that Arthur gave to her yesterday and also his assurances that their check ups weren't as public as the ones in the lobby.

"Where are we?" Ron asked as she came into a stop in front of a set of double doors.

Hermione looked at the sign on the door written in bold red: MEDIWITCH QUARTERS. She gave Ron a look that instantly made him red in embarrassment. Without warning, she cancelled the charm around them and knocked on one of the doors. The doors opened to reveal a beautiful busty young witch with bright blue eyes and ruby hair that tumbled in fat curls down her shoulders. She looked as though she was about their age nut she was wearing the standard white Mediwitch robes.

"Susan Bones!" Ginny exclaimed, immediately recognizing their Hufflepuff schoolmate.

"Quickly," the beautiful redhead urged. "Inside."

They darted inside the room and eyed the beds lined up and the odd equipments that were scattered and about. Hermione refrained from slapping Ron's hand away when he grabbed one of the equipments. She chose to sit on the closest bed next to her instead, the adrenaline rush slowly draining from her body. She watched as Susan locked the door behind them after making sure that they weren't followed.

"We must hurry," Susan said, her voice was soft but urgent. "The Ministry officials are going to arrive soon and they would no doubt find you in order to gain some of the public's appreciation."

"So, you're the one who's going to examine us?" Harry questioned, sitting on the bed opposite of Hermione. "Aren't you the same age as us?"

Susan colored when the Boy Who Loved addressed her. "Err, yes, I am. I've been training to become a mediwitch since the war ended so I know what to do. I just took an oath a month ago actually."

"So, that means that you can't tamper with our records then," Hermione said, disappointment lacing her voice. She had been hoping that Susan hadn't taken her oath yet so they could find a loophole around the law. "You can't make it appear as though we're infertile and sterile. Or that our magic aren't stable."

Susan shook her head, cringing. "No, I can't. The oath prohibits me. And even if I could tamper with your records, it's still a magical record and the Ministry would suspect foul play especially since you're all the war heroes and heroines. They would insist on another test, this time with a Ministry offical to monitor it."

Ron scowled. "Stupid law," he muttered.

Susan winced, hearing Ron's statement. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Ginny assured her. "It's all the Ministry's fault. They're the ones who's making us do this."

There was a hint of anxiousness in Susan's smile. "Well, let's begin, shall we?"

The testing was a series of spell casted upon them to determine the state of their magic — "It's not uncommon that the magical core can be erratic after the war due to magical exhaustion." — the boys' capacity to have children — "Wizards usually can produce children even at one hundred so you don't have to worry about anything." — and the girls' fertility — "Your cycles are irregular, Ginny. So, I want you take this potion every week to regulate your cycles. Other than that, you pass." — It was Hermione's turn when a problem occurred.

"Hmm," Susan hummed, frowning as she cancelled the charm. "It seems that you have magical imbued problems in your uterus and your ovaries. It seems a bit old though."

Hermione trained her gaze on the redhead, ignoring the other people in the room. "I was cursed by Antonin Dolohov when I was sixteen," she said. "Nobody really knew what kind of spell it was and I have to maintain ten potions a day for three months to heal my body and to regain my strength, both physical and magical. To this day, I still have to take at least five potions a week under Madame Pomfrey's instructions to prevent fatigue, to heal my uterus, and to regulate my cycles. Is it going to be a problem?"

Susan forced a smile on her plump lips. "Well, as long as you keep on drinking your potions at a regular rate and visit Madame Pomfrey, at least once a month, then I don't see how it's a problem." She patted her knee. "You pass."

Hermione nodded and jumped down the bed as Susan wrote her diagnosis in Hermione's own record files. After a few quick exchange of thank you's, they immediately left the hospital with little to no trouble because of the Notice Me Not charm that Hermione casted on them. Once they got home, however, Ron immediately rounded on Hermione.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron demanded.

Hermione paused. "Tell you what?"

"That Dolohov's curse did more damage to you than we thought," Ron spat out. "You told us that you were fine and then we just found out today that you aren't?!"

"I was and still am fine," Hermione snapped, gritting her teeth and fisting her hands. "I don't see why I have to tell you since Madame Pomfrey insisted on my full recovery and there will be nothing wrong with me as long as I drink my potions!"

"You still should've told us!" Ron's face was turning into an ugly shade of red. "We were on a hunt for a year, Hermione! What would've happened if you ran out of potions?! What would Harry and I do if something happened to you during the hunt because you didn't tell us the truth?!"

"But nothing happened!" Hermione exasperatedly pointed out to him. "I was fine! I wasn't irresponsible enough to go on with you without making sure that my potions will last a year at most! Honestly, Ron, if I told you the truth, you two would've coddled me and I'd hate that because I'm not a fragile china doll to be handled with care! I'm a big grown witch and I can take care of myself!"

"That's not the point! The point is you should've told us the truth instead of hiding it for years, Hermione! You were the one who kept on casting the wards the most and you were the one who kept on insisting us to eat even though there's barely enough for yourself! You didn't even get enough sleep because you always took watch! A lot of bad things could've happened that year and something bad could've happened to you!"

"But nothing bad happened!" Hermione scowled. "I don't see why we're arguing about this, Ronald!"

"We're arguing about this because I'm planning to marry you!"

Hermione went rigid, her jaw slackened and her eyes widened, conveying her shock at his declaration. Ron's ears reddened and he ducked down his head, shuffling his feet. She distantly heard the others walking out of the room to give them some semblance of privacy despite that they were aware that they were going to eavesdrop somewhere behind the door. Her heart twinged when his blue eyes darted to her face before looking away when her shocked expression hadn't changed.

"Ron..." She breathed out before halting as words seemed to elude her.

"I want to marry you," Ron rushed out, his gaze on his feet. "And... And I can't take care of you like a proper husband when... when I don't know about this."

Hermione stared at him. This was the reason why Ron had been acting strangely since finding out about the law. Suddenly, it all made sense to her. This was the reason for the shy glances and the long stares and the frantic worry he had on her. He was planning to propose to her, thinking of a future where she would become his wife and he would become her husband. He had thought that they would marry, had hoped it even under the guise of the law. She felt sick to her stomach and her trembling hands pressed down against her torso, trying to prevent herself from vomiting in front of him.

She gulped down the sob threatening to slip past her lips. "Ron," her voice was full of pain, "you can't. We— we can't get married."

Ron wasn't as angry as she suspected he was going to be. He just looked lost. "Why not?"

"Because of the law," she revealed to him slowly as though it would lessen the blow of her words. "It's stated that after the law, every engagement, whether registered or not, would be null and void as long as it's not a Ministry approved match. We can't get married because... because our match isn't made by the Ministry."

His breath hitched and he looked lost and crushed at the same time, as though he was stuck in between the sense of awareness and unconsciousness. He stumbled back, the strength of his feet wavering for a split second before he had the sense to regain his balance and control. She watched him as he reached one of his hands out and planted his palms on the wall. The breaths that came out of his mouth was heavy and harsh and his face contorted into an ugly expression of anguish.

"But— but I thought..." Ron trailed off, whipping his head to the side, bringing his fist to his teeth, and biting down on his knuckles.

Hermione started towards him. "Ron, I'm so sorry."

Ron shook his head. "No," he said, spine straightening as he attempted a stance of confidence but all Hermione could see was a broken man trying to scramble and pick up his shattered pieces. "No, it's okay. It— it was just a thought, anyway. I wanted— wanted to save you from— from getting a horrible match. I didn't think that— that the Ministry would stop it."

Before Hermione could say anything, he fled from the room, his distinctive steps thundering against the floorboards, reaching Hermione's chest and filling it with the echoes of his footsteps. When the steps went distant until not one sound from it could be heard, she felt hollow inside as those echoes receded. She dropped down on a chair, tugging her hair.

In that room, she felt impossibly alone more than ever.


End file.
